this animal i have become
by splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Six months after Jaskier leaves Geralt on the mountain, he finds another white wolf. [inspired by a beautiful piece of fanart by @kayivy on tumblr!]
1. of curses and consequences

"That was cruel, even for you."

Geralt looks back at Yennefer from where he's been gazing out over the edge of the mountain, trying to ignore the uncomfortable guilt that's been slowly settling into his stomach. She's standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest, giving him a look that would probably cause lesser men to shit themselves.

Luckily, Geralt has met things scarier than Yennefer. Not many things, he'll admit, but some.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then turns back to the view.

"Really? That's all you have to say for yourself?" Geralt's about to respond when Yennefer's hand connects with the back of his head. It doesn't hurt, but it certainly stings his pride. "Geralt of Rivia," Yennefer intones, rolling her eyes, "The White Wolf who needs nobody."

"I don't," Geralt grumbles, trying to ignore the way his heart cracks at the lie.

"That's shit and you know it." Yennefer sighs. She shoves him until they're facing each other. "This—" she gestures between them "—isn't real. But what you have with him is." Geralt frowns and she rolls her eyes. "Gods, you're an idiot."

"Yenn, you don't even like him."

"That's beside the point." She sighs. "He's an idiot, but he's good to you – and for you." Geralt goes to interrupt and she shakes her head. "Shut up. You've said enough already."

Geralt's not sure why he's standing here, letting Yennefer yell at him. Probably because she's right.

Yennefer looks him over, hands on her hips, and eventually appears to come to a decision.

"Fine," she says. "If you're so determined to be a lone wolf, then so be it."

She twitches her fingers and a spark of magic leaps from them to Geralt, tingling across his skin and smelling vaguely of peppermint. He wrinkles his nose, taking a step back but finding himself frozen to the spot.

He tries to ask Yennefer what exactly she thinks she's doing, but he suddenly can't speak – his mouth is too full. Of… teeth? When he reaches up to examine the sensation, he tumbles forward and lands on his face.

"There." Yennefer is suddenly much, much taller than Geralt, and he whines in confusion. The sound startles him – Geralt of Rivia does not whine. He opens his mouth to as her what the hell is going on, and nothing comes out but a growl.

A real growl, like a…

Geralt blinks, looking down at what are supposed to be his arms, but instead are two large, white paws pressed into the dirt. His nose itches and when he brings a hand – paw – up to scratch it, he's horrified to find a muzzle in its place.

Yennefer smirks at him. "Much better," she says, then bends down to pick up his sword and armor that are sitting next to him instead of strapped to his back. He growls at her and she rolls her eyes. "You deserve this," she says. "And you can have these back when you learn your lesson."

Then a portal swirls up around her, yanking her away in a wave of multicolored sparks, and Geralt is left sitting on his haunches, staring at the spot where she'd been.

* * *

Six months after Jaskier leaves Geralt on the mountain, he finds another white wolf.

It's the tail end of winter and the snow is just starting to thaw in this part of the mountains. Jaskier hasn't slept in a real bed in over a week, so when he comes across a group of highwaymen less than hour outside the next town, he's really not in the mood. All he wants is a bed and a bath, not a tedious fight.

"Just shoot it," one voice says. "The furrier'll buy its pelt for a handful of orens and we still get their coin. And take the girl, too."

Jaskier's mild irritation immediately shifts into rage that simmers in his chest. There's three men at the top of the hill – one holding a crossbow and two with swords out. Jaskier sighs, looping Buttercup's reins over a tree branch and drawing both his daggers.

"One bolt ain't gonna take that thing down," the man with crossbow insists. He takes a step backward, nearly tripping over a rock. "Ain't worth it."

"Bloody cad," one of the other bandits growls, grabbing the crossbow and leveling it at something beyond the crest of the hill. Jaskier moves silently along the treeline, keeping his eyes on the three men, and when he finally sees what they're looking at, his eyes widen.

It's a wolf. Jaskier's never seen one this big – it stands just taller than Jaskier's hip, and each of its claws are likely as long as Jaskier's hand. There's a young couple standing behind it, trembling in terror and clutching at each other. The arm of the woman's dress is torn and stained with blood, and a shoddily crafted sword lies on the ground, just out of reach of them. The wolf is pacing in front of them, muzzle blood-stained and teeth bared in a snarl.

"What're you waiting for?" one of the bandits growls, shoving the man with the crossbow. Before Jaskier can do anything, the bolt looses, flying through the air and embedding itself in the wolf's front leg. The wolf yelps, stumbling back but holding its ground.

As the man moves to reload the crossbow, one of Jaskier's daggers sails through the air and embeds itself in the soft spot between his neck and shoulder. As he sinks to the ground, blood bubbling from his throat, the other two raise their weapons and look around in panic. It's too late, though. Jaskier's already between them, yanking the sword from one of them and sliding it neatly into his stomach before kicking him back down the hill.

He turns, braced for a fight, but the wolf leaps forward, pinning the last bandit to the ground and snarling in his face before ripping out his throat.

"Well," Jaskier says as the wolf shakes the man a few times before dropping his corpse and stepping back. "I had that, y'know."

The wolf stares at him, and Jaskier realizes belatedly that instead of chastising the wolf, he should probably be backing away. Instead of attacking, though, it stares at him, head tipped curiously to the side.

Jaskier frowns. There's something comforting about its presence, which is ridiculous because it could kill him before he could blink. His brain doesn't have the decency to be afraid, though, and he nearly reaches out to pet the damned thing before it turns around and limps off into the forest.

A familiar sensation twists through Jaskier, thrumming low in his chest. He's about to try to untangle it when the woman touches his arm.

"You saved us," she breathes. He drags his eyes away from the rustling bushes and up to her face, and a small part of his mind registers that at one time, he would already be trying to get into her skirts. Now, though, the idea of being with anyone that isn't Ger—

He shakes his head.

"Are you hurt?" The man has approached now, looking somewhere been grateful and embarrassed. Jaskier pulls himself out of the spiral of bitterness he's veering toward and gives the man a cheerful smile.

"Not at all," he insists, leaning down and yanking his other dagger from the bandit's neck. He makes a face at the blood, wiping it on his pants and tucking it back into the sheath. "Are either of you harmed?"

"Not badly," the woman says, gesturing to where her arm is now wrapped with torn cloth. "They wanted our coin, and..." She swallows heavily. "And me... but then that wolf came charging out of the forest and _protected_ us."

"Never seen anything like it," the man adds. "Hope it's all right." Then he turns to Jaskier and gestures back to the town. "Can we buy you dinner, stranger? We'd be happy to pay for a night at the inn as thanks – we owe you our lives."

Jaskier sighs, looking down the road and thinking longingly of a soft bed and a hot bath. But then he turns back to the trail of blood leading into the woods and groans.

"While normally I would absolutely take you up on that generous offer," he says, "I have some unfinished business to attend to."

"If you're certain," the man says, and Jaskier can tell he's eager to get away from the blood and bodies. "We'll leave a debenture at the inn if you'd like, so you can claim it when you make it to town."

"Lovely," Jaskier says, tipping his head at them. "I do have one favor to ask. Would you be so kind as to take my horse with you? I can pay for stabling."

"Nonsense," the woman says as Jaskier retrieves Buttercup and leads her up the hill, handing off her reins and patting her nose. "We'll pay for it. It's the least we can do."

"Be good," Jaskier murmurs to Buttercup. "I'll come for you."

As soon as the couple are down the hill, Jaskier sighs, turning toward the trail of blood and resignedly following it into the forest.


	2. helping hands

It doesn't take long to find the wolf.

"Look," Jaskier says, holding his hands up in surrender as he slowly approaches it. "I'm just trying to help you. It's the least I can do for you saving those people, but honestly, I can't do much for you if you bite my hands off."

The wolf, which stands nearly half Jaskier's height and is bleeding heavily where the crossbow bolt is sticking out of its leg, bares its teeth and snarls at him.

"Oh, knock it off," Jaskier grumbles irritably. "I've been growled at plenty; you don't scare me." Jaskier takes another slow step closer to it. "I'm not going to hurt you." It growls and backs up again, whining when it puts pressure on its injured paw.

Jaskier stops, putting his hands on his hips and looking around the forest. They're in a sort of clearing, far enough from the road that nobody will find Jaskier's body if the wolf decides to eat him. Which isn't the end of the world, he supposes, since the only thing that will miss him is Buttercup.

He turns back to the wolf and sighs. "Come on," he says, holding out his hand. "You're going to bleed out if you don't let me help you, and I know you're smarter than that."

The wolf rumbles, baring sharp teeth that could easily tear Jaskier apart. Its ears flick flat back against its head, and it barks at him, sharp and low.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Jaskier mutters. The wolf responds with another low growl, but it doesn't sound quite as enthusiastic this time around.

Jaskier eyes it carefully, then shuffles off his travel pack and digs around inside until he finds some dried venison he picked up a while back. The wolf's ears prick up at the scent.

"Aha," Jaskier says, shuffling forward and holding out the venison. "Hungry?" He's only a few feet away from the wolf at this point, and even though he knows he should be petrified, he's mostly just relieved that the wolf is okay.

It stares at him uncertainly for a little while, and eventually Jaskier's legs start to cramp up. He sets his pack down on the forest floor, tugs out his kit of bandages and sutures, then sits cross-legged on top of the pack to protect himself from the snow. The wolf watches him warily but doesn't move. Several minutes go by, and eventually Jaskier starts to hum.

The wolf's ears immediately flick toward him. "Oh, you like that, huh?" Jaskier says. It makes a sound that's almost a huff, and Jaskier laughs. "If I sing for you, will you let me help you?"

He starts into a silly song about flowers that he'd written a few weeks prior – nothing special, but the melody is soft and soothing. The wolf tilts its head to the side, studying Jaskier with an unusual intensity. The uncomfortable, familiar feeling surfaces again, but Jaskier ignores it.

The wolf takes a careful step forward, limping on its injured paw, and Jaskier sits as still as he can while continuing to sing. It moves closer, and by the time Jaskier's at the second verse, it's sitting close enough for him to reach out and touch it.

Up close, Jaskier can see that the wolf is male, and he's clearly been in some battles. There are scars across his muzzle and one of his ears has a piece missing, making him look oddly asymmetrical. His amber eyes are wide and serious as he studies Jaskier.

"Good boy," Jaskier murmurs, holding out the venison. The wolf sniffs at it and then slowly, carefully accepts the food. "There you go." The wolf devours the venison within seconds and then, to Jaskier's surprise, moves right up to him, sniffing him and nosing at his hands. "Oh, so _now_ you want to be friends," Jaskier says, laughing. "I don't have anything else. Let me look at your leg first, then I'll go find us something to eat."

To his surprise, the wolf headbutts him gently, then lays down in front of him, legs outstretched. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" Jaskier murmurs, slowly moving his hand to the wolf's head and running gentle fingers through his fur. "Actually, the better question is, why aren't I afraid of you?"

The wolf whines. "Hm, you're right," Jaskier says, moving his hand down through the wolf's fur until he's touching right above the crossbow bolt. "I've dealt with scarier. I had a friend for a while that growled worse than you, and I wasn't scared of him, either; he'd never hurt anyone. Well, not humans, anyways, unless they deserved it – like those three, on the road. Mostly he hunted monsters. I once saw him take down a wyvern…"

Jaskier keeps talking, keeping his voice low and soft, and breathes a sigh of relief when the wolf slowly relaxes under his touch. His fingers are close enough to the crossbow bolt that he can feel the blood now, sticky under his fingers, and he fumbles around in his pack for a bandage with his other hand.

"Now, don't you dare bite me," he cautions, staring into the wolf's amber eyes. "Ready?" To his surprise, the wolf responds with a soft _woof. _Jaskier takes a deep breath, sends a quiet prayer to Melitele, and then pulls the crossbow bolt out in one swift motion.

The wolf whines in pain but stays surprisingly still. Jaskier quickly tosses the bolt aside and presses the bandage to the wound, wrapping it around the wolf's leg and holding it tight to stem the bleeding.

"Shhh," he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to stroke the wolf's head. "You're all right. Good boy." He runs his fingers through the soft fur, making quiet, soothing noises, and after a minute he peels the bandage back to inspect the damage. "Well, I don't think I can suture it," he says, happy to see that the bleeding has slowed. "But it should heal just fine if I bandage it up. You're being very brave. If I'd been shot with a crossbow – well, I was one time, and it wasn't pretty. First of all, Geralt was pissed, which is really rich, coming from him." Jaskier tugs another bandage from the pack and slowly starts to wrap it around the first. "He's an idiot."

The wolf makes a puzzled sound and Jaskier sighs. "He is," he insists. "Always charging headfirst into things without thinking about how much it scares other people. And then the one time I tried to help _him, _he yelled at me, then wouldn't talk to me for a week. This, after I spent what, six years stitching him up and bandaging his wounds, he couldn't just say _thank you Jaskier, you're so helpful, what would I do without a lovely friend like you in my travels?" _

The wolf tilts his head and makes a noise that almost sounds apologetic, and Jaskier laughs. Then he ties off the bandage and inspects his handiwork.

"Better?" The wolf sniffs at the bandage and then, to Jaskier's surprise, makes a pleased sound and licks his hand. "You're welcome."

They sit in silence for a bit, and Jaskier keeps running his fingers through the soft fur behind the wolf's ears. As the sun starts to dip down in the sky, the wind picks up, biting through Jaskier's cloak and dragging tiny flakes of snow down from the sky.

"Bollocks," Jaskier mutters, staring up at the white specks drifting down around them. He sighs, looking down at the wolf, who has shifted forward and nearly has his head in Jaskier's lap. "I could be sleeping in a real bed right now, you know," Jaskier comments. The wolf huffs. "And eating a warm meal."

Jaskier hesitates, looking back toward the path to town. Technically, his debt is repaid. The wolf is safe. He could leave now and walk to the inn, take a hot bath, have some drinks, play a few songs, and sleep on a mattress instead of the ground.

As if he knows what Jaskier is thinking, the wolf whines, low and sad. "Oh, don't look at me like that," Jaskier says, frowning as the wolf stares up at him. "You'll be just fine out here in the cold, whereas I will freeze to death in the middle of a forest with nobody to find my body. It would be tragic."

He doesn't mention that he has a tent in his pack, and a bedroll, and that he's spent the better part of the last six months sleeping outdoors, even when the night air is so cold that his eyelashes freeze together.

The wolf slowly pushes himself to his feet, limping away from Jaskier. For a second, Jaskier thinks he's leaving, but when he approaches the rock face nearby, he turns back and looks at Jaskier expectantly. Jaskier looks back one last time at the path to the road, then sighs and stands, packing up his things and following the wolf.

There's a cave in the side of the cliff. The entrance is small enough to block out most of the wind and snow, and it's just barely big enough to fit the two of them. "This is cozy," Jaskier comments, squeezing himself in and looking around. "Not nearly as nice as silk sheets, but I suppose it will have to do. Can't leave you out here with an injured leg, can I?"

The wolf sits down on his haunches, looking very pleased with itself, while Jaskier digs in his pack and gets out his bedroll and blanket. There's not enough room to light a fire, but once he's down to his sleep shirt and trousers and under the furs, it's warm enough to be tolerable.

As soon as Jaskier settles down, the wolf moves to the entrance of the cave, turning several times as best he can with his injured leg. Eventually he plops down on the ground with his back to Jaskier, tucking his tail around him and staring out into the night.

"You'd better not eat me while I'm sleeping," Jaskier mutters, giving the wolf's back a stern look. There's a quiet rumble that almost sounds like an agreement, and Jaskier yawns, cuddling deeper into his furs.

It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep, protected by the wolf and listening to the sound of the wind.


	3. bring me back

**Six Months Ago**

It takes a while for Geralt to get used to walking on four legs. Most of the trip down the mountain is a struggle, tripping over his own feet and ending up face-first in the dirt. It's humiliating, and he's glad that nobody's watching.

At least, he hopes nobody is. He has a sneaking suspicion that Yennefer knows exactly where he is and is laughing at every misstep and frustrated yelp.

It takes nearly two days for Geralt to get back down to the inn where he'd stabled Roach. Unsurprisingly, she isn't there anymore, and instead the familiar scent of lilac and gooseberries hangs in the air.

That _bitch._

Geralt huffs, sitting back on his haunches and looking around. It's nearing dinner time, and the scent of roasted meat floats out the front door of the inn, along with the sound of music. For a second Geralt thinks it's Jaskier, but the anxious hope in his chest dwindles as a woman starts to sing instead.

"Get away from there!" A shout draws Geralt's attention away from the inn and toward the man who's grooming the horses and glaring at him. Geralt's about to ask the man who the hell he thinks he's talking to when a growl rumbles through him instead. _Oh, _he thinks, looking down at his paws. _Right._

"Don't make me get my crossbow," the man warns, grabbing a broom from the stall and holding it out in front of him. "Go'on, git."

Geralt snarls and takes a few steps toward the man, who yelps and backs into the stall, eyes wide. The terrified expression on his face is almost enough to satisfy Geralt's annoyance, so he snaps at the man once, then turns around and prowls off into the night.

* * *

Life as a wolf isn't much different than what Geralt's used to. He sleeps less, and tends to travel more at night, but all things considered it's very much the same. Sleep, eat, hunt, travel – except now instead of hunting monsters, he's hunting Jaskier.

At first, he tries to follow Jaskier's trail away from the Pensive Dragon. He manages to keep it until just outside the town, but after that, the scent is mixed in with too many other things. Geralt keeps going east, occasionally finding a hastily covered campsite or some familiar footprints, but he's never quite quick enough to catch up.

After that, he starts listening for news of Jaskier. People tend to talk about him – both praising his music and cursing his philandering – so Geralt picks up bits and pieces of conversation from people on the road. He's never able to catch up, though. Every time he finds a new town, Jaskier's already gone.

* * *

Weeks go by, and it gets harder and harder to remember. Some nights Geralt wanders aimlessly, only realizing the next day that he's supposed to be heading to the next town to find Jaskier. Other times he'll drift away from Jaskier's path to follow an unknown scent and end up lost in an unfamiliar forest for several days.

One evening, Geralt wakes up covered in snow. He grumbles, shaking the flakes from his fur and looking up at the grey sky. Something feels off, and there's a longing sensation that aches in his chest and makes him feel anxious.

He's supposed to be looking for something.

There's a flash at the corner of his mind – bright blue, a piece of a song – but he doesn't know why. Geralt growls, turning in circles and looking around the woods. Nothing is familiar.

There's a rustle in the bushes nearby, and the fleeting thoughts of music are gone, replaced entirely by hunger and the thrill of a chase.

* * *

Days blur together.

Eat, sleep, hunt.

Hunting rabbits, hunting deer, supposed to be hunting something else.

He's lost, and he lost something.

Eat, sleep, hunt.

* * *

Humans are dangerous.

They take and take, and chase and shout. There are words and he should know them, but they're just sounds. Angry sounds. But this time the sound is frightened, and something tugs at his chest, pulls him out of the woods and toward the road.

Men are there. Three of them, with sharp things that will hurt. Hurt him, hurt the other two who stink of fear. A woman, screaming – the frightened sound. Something in him whispers _protect _and then he's between them, snarling with a mouth full of blood and something pointed at him.

More shouts, sharp and angry, then a loud sound and pain in his leg. His own blood.

One of the men falls to the ground. Something appears from the trees – another man, quick and deadly. Stealing his kill. He pounces first, something cracks, he snarls and sinks teeth deep into skin.

After a minute he growls and drops the body, then looks up at the other man.

Blue eyes stare back at him and he tilts his head, curious. He knows the eyes and he recognizes this man's scent – light, like trees when it rains. Then the man says something, and the shape of the words fit into an empty space that wasn't there before.

He wants the man to touch him.

But humans are dangerous, even ones with eyes like the sky, so he turns and limps away, back into the forest.

* * *

The man follows him.

He snarls and backs away, giving in to fear instead of curiosity. Usually baring his teeth is enough to scare away anyone – even other wolves – but the man doesn't smell afraid. The man smells like home. A frustrated whine breaks out of him and he backs up again, pulling his injured leg close.

It becomes a game. The man says something, and he wants to listen but lets doubt pull him back each time. Sharp teeth and claws don't scare the man, and no matter how many times he's growled at, he won't leave.

Eventually the man tugs something out of his bag and holds it out to him. Food. He's not stupid. Food from humans is always a trap and he has the scars to prove it. But this man doesn't seem frightening or frightened, just sits down on the ground, hands out, offering him the meat. It's frustrating. He growls again but it does nothing.

Instead the man starts to hum.

_Be honest. How's my singing?_

His ears flick forward at both the flash of memory and the familiar melody. The man laughs, says something else, then tilts his head to the side and begins to sing.

It's hypnotic. The words don't make sense, but the voice is clear and soft, and suddenly it's as if he's somewhere else, somewhere dark and crowded, and deft fingers are moving over strings, and he's in the corner watching the man sing.

_I was looking for you, _he thinks. _I'm lost. I lost you._

Before he realizes what's happening, he's limping across the grass, moving closer to the voice that's filling that empty place in him again. As he gets closer, the words start to take shape, and by the time he's close enough for the man to touch him, he realizes that he can understand them.

_...this maiden so fair and the flower so rare_  
_together they grew in the valley..._

The memories keep coming in pieces – bright colors, soft fingers, loud laughter. Bits of a puzzle he doesn't understand. When the song comes to an end, he stays where he is, staring at the man and desperately trying to remember.

"Good boy." The voice is so, so familiar, and the man's eyes are so kind. The food is offered again, and he takes it carefully because his teeth are sharp, and humans are soft. "There you go."

_I know you, _he thinks. _I know you, who are you?_

He moves closer, sniffing at the man and nosing at his hands to try and jog the memories that are sitting right out of reach. "Oh, so _now _you want to be friends," the man says, laughing. "I don't have anything else. Let me look at your leg first, and then I'll go find us something to eat."

His leg. The pain had been pushed away by confusion before, but when he looks down at the sharp thing and the blood, it hurts again. The hesitation from before is gone, though. He knows the man. The man is safe.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" the man asks. There are gentle fingers in his fur, and he nudges the man's hand. "Actually, the better question is, why aren't I afraid of you?"

The man _should _be afraid of him – other humans are. But this one is different, and when careful fingers find the bloody wound and he says, "Don't you dare bite me," the only response he gets is a soft _woof_.

_I could never hurt you. _

There's a sharp pain and a gentle pressure on the wound, and the man's voice keeps going, soft and soothing. "You're being very brave," he says, fingers moving through soft fur. "If I'd been shot with a crossbow – well, I was one time, and it wasn't pretty. First of all, Geralt was pissed..."

_Geralt._

His name. That's his name. It hits him hard, and more memories start to appear in fragmented pieces – weapons and monsters and this man, always this man.

"... couldn't just say _thank you Jaskier, you're so helpful..."_

_Jaskier._

_Jaskier and Geralt._

"Better?" Jaskier finishes tying off the bandage and Geralt takes a second to inspect it. Then he licks Jaskier's hand, shuffling closer and wishing he could speak.

_I know you, _he thinks. _I lost you and now I've found you, and I'm never letting you leave me again._

He still can't remember _why _Jaskier is so important to him, but the urge to save the humans earlier is nothing compared to the fierce protective urge that swells inside of him now. Geralt moves closer as Jaskier continues to scratch behind his ears, and eventually ends up with his head in Jaskier's lap.

This is right. He doesn't need to search anymore, because he belongs right here.

Jaskier is his home.


	4. wake me up

_**TW for dream/flashback to (non-graphic) assault**_

* * *

_Jaskier is freezing._

_Normally this would be unremarkable because it's winter and he's been camping in the snow for weeks, but for some reason the trees are green and he's not in the mountains anymore. Instead he's in a plush room with velvet-cushioned chairs and a broken window._

_A man enters the room, but he has no face. Jaskier's heart leaps. He tries to run, but his feet are trapped by thorny vines that sneak across the ground and up his legs. The faceless man closes the window. The room goes dark._

_"You're a pretty one, aren't you?"_

_Jaskier can't breathe. He knows the voice – scraped palms, bruises like fingerprints, hands where they shouldn't be – and it hurts._

_"Aren't you going to sing for me?"_

_Cold sweat gathers on the back of his neck and he bites his tongue, choking on the blood that pools in his mouth. He's so cold. He can't feel his fingers._

_"Don't move, or I'll break your fingers and you won't be able to play your sweet songs again."_

_Even if he wanted to, Jaskier can't move. Somehow, he's made of ice now, brittle and breakable, and if he breathes the wrong way, he'll fall apart. Panic is taking over, heart slamming against his chest and tears on his cheeks..._

_No, not tears. Something warm and gentle, and then there's a soft whine instead of the voice, and then—_

Jaskier gasps, eyes flying open as he pulls himself from the dream and frantically tires to remember where he is. It's too dark to see, but there's something with him, something warm that's nudging him and licking his hands.

The wolf.

Jaskier exhales in relief as the wolf sniffs him, then headbutts him and lets out a low, concerned whine. He's not _there_. That was months ago, and he's safe now.

"I'm all right," Jaskier says, slightly out of breath and still trembling. The wolf huffs as if it doesn't quite believe him, then moves closer, curling up and bumping Jaskier's chest with his head. When he leans up to lick Jaskier's cheeks, Jaskier realizes he's crying.

"Fuck," Jaskier whispers, tipping his head back and swallowing against the tears. The wolf gives him a quiet, gentle _woof, _and Jaskier laughs wetly. "It was just a dream," he murmurs, running his fingers through the wolf's soft fur. "Wasn't real. It's okay." He sniffles, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. "It's okay. We're okay."

No matter how many times he says it, he can't stop crying. It's the first dream in weeks that he's had since Then, and the terrified thrumming in his chest just won't go away.

The wolf shifts forward again until he's nearly in Jaskier's lap, then leans heavily against him and noses at his hand, licking it a few times and making a comforting sound. He tips his head back against Jaskier's chest, looking up at him with soft eyes and bumping his chin with a wet nose.

Jaskier shivers, closing his eyes and focusing on the solid weight against him. The wind is still howling outside and flakes of snow are drifting in through the entrance of the cave, but he's safe here. Nothing's going to hurt him with nearly two hundred pounds of sharp teeth and claws in the way.

"Thank you," he says after a while. The wolf makes a soft sound but doesn't move away from him – if anything, it tries to get closer. "I really am all right now. It was just a dream." The wolf looks at him quizzically and Jaskier sighs. "Humans are cruel," he says softly, tipping his head against the wall. "Not all of them, but some. I was…"

He trails off, shaking his head as he remembers that he's talking to a wolf. Instead, he runs his fingers through soft fur, focusing on the way it slips between his fingers instead of the cold sweat on the back of his neck.

When he finally shifts to lie back down, the wolf stays beside him, warm and present as Jaskier slips back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Jaskier wakes up again, it's early morning. A thin, pale light trickles into the cave, accompanied by the occasional flake of snow that's still drifting down from the sky. Despite the dismal weather outside, Jaskier is sweating, and it takes him a second to figure out why.

The wolf is still there, curled up next to Jaskier, breathing evenly with his head resting on Jaskier's chest. Every once in a while, his paws twitch and he makes a quiet half-barking sound as if he's chasing something.

A grateful warmth spreads through Jaskier's chest as he recalls his dream and the wolf's gentle comfort. He's still unsettled and on edge as he usually is after nightmares, but finding he's not alone makes it a bit more bearable.

As soon as Jaskier shifts to get more comfortable, furry ears perk up and the wolf yawns, showing off teeth that could tear Jaskier limb from limb. When he sees Jaskier, his tail starts to pound against the wall of the cave, and he licks Jaskier's cheek.

"Yes, hello, good morning to you, too," Jaskier says, scratching behind the wolf's ears and laughing as his face and neck are assaulted with more kisses. "I'm very happy to see you, I promise." The wolf stands up slowly, stretching and yawning again and then shaking away the sleep before nosing at Jaskier.

"I told you yesterday," Jaskier chastises, "I don't have anything else to eat."

The wolf huffs and tilts his head to the side, then turns and disappears out into the snow. A pang of disappointment flashes through Jaskier and he nearly calls out, only to realize that he's being ridiculous. The wolf is a wild animal – despite being remarkably affectionate – and he was never going to stick around.

"Lovely." Jaskier rubs his face, huddling under the blanket for a few more minutes before finally giving in and tossing it away. He quickly pulls on his traveling clothes – much more practical now than he'd had when travelling with Geralt – and packs up his bag before stepping out into the snow.

It's cold but not windy, and the sky is a soft, suffocating gray that presses down on the earth and makes everything feel small and simple. The wolf's tracks lead south, away from the road and further into the forest, and for a minute, Jaskier feels a strange pull to follow them.

"Don't be ridiculous," he mutters, tugging his cloak closer around him and shaking his head. "Can't follow every dangerous, grumpy thing you see to a certain death, look how well that worked out for you last time."

His thoughts drift to Geralt for a moment and he's ashamed to feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Maybe if Geralt had been there, those months ago, when it happened…

"You can protect yourself," Jaskier chastises himself fiercely, wiping his face with a gloved hand. "You don't need some stupid, drate-poking… twat to take care of you." There's anger behind the words, backed by a deep, bitter sense of hurt that he tries his hardest to push away. Even in the soft daylight, pieces of the dream still haunt him, and he shudders, rubbing at his wrists even though he knows the bruises are long gone.

He's about to start making his way through the snow when something rustles in the bushes. Before he can get a hand to his dagger, the wolf barrels out of the trees towards him, two dead rabbits hanging from his mouth. He sits eagerly at Jaskier's feet, dropping the rabbits and thumping his tail into the snow.

"You came back," Jaskier says softly, and before he can stop himself, he crouches down and takes the wolf's muzzle in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. Something about this feels right, filling the lonely, angry space that's been growing in Jaskier for so long.

The wolf licks Jaskier's cheek and nudges the rabbits with his paw, looking pleased with himself.

"You're a very good boy," Jaskier says, scratching behind the wolf's ears and exhaling at the sense of relief that fills his chest. "Looks like it's time for breakfast."


	5. a wolf by any other name

Jaskier likes the rabbits.

Geralt wags his tail proudly at Jaskier's smile, and when Jaskier drops down and presses his forehead to Geralt's, he can't stop himself from licking Jaskier's cheek. The affectionate touch makes Geralt feel important. Like he's necessary.

"You're a very good boy," Jaskier murmurs, scratching behind Geralt's ears. Geralt's tail thumps into the snow and he wishes desperately that he could remember why Jaskier is so important to him. Other humans aren't like this – they're loud and frightening and shout cruel things. The bandage on Geralt's leg is testament to that. But Jaskier is soft and patient, and he smells like the forest after it's rained, and he feels like home.

"Good boy," Jaskier says again, stroking both sides of Geralt's face with his gloved hands, then pulling back and sitting on his heels. "Looks like it's time for breakfast," he adds, then stands up and drops his pack on the ground next to the rabbits.

Geralt watches with his head tipped to one side as Jaskier looks around the clearing, then moves a few feet away and starts to stomp in the snow. He looks ridiculous, and Geralt has no idea what he's doing. Maybe it's a game. Geralt tests the theory by bounding forward and barking, then starting to dig into the snow, kicking it out behind him until he's reached the dead grass underneath.

"You're being very helpful," Jaskier says, laughing as Geralt follows him and does it again, and again, until they've dug out a patch just big enough for Geralt to turn in circles and lie down in. "No, that's not for you, silly," Jaskier says, nudging Geralt out of the way. "We're going to cook breakfast."

A few minutes later, they're sitting next to a pile of wood, and Jaskier's striking something against a piece of rock. Geralt watches curiously, and when sparks from the rock catch and the wood starts to burn, he yelps in surprise. The sparks quickly turn to flames, lighting a deep panic in Geralt's chest. Fire is dangerous.

He quickly grabs the bottom of Jaskier's jacket between his teeth and tugs on it, growling at the flames through the fabric. When Jaskier looks at him quizzically, Geralt barks and headbutts his legs, backing up a few steps and then trying to grab Jaskier's jacket again.

"It's all right," Jaskier says gently, reaching out to stroke Geralt's forehead. "It's not going to hurt you. See?" He holds a hand near the flames and Geralt whines, but Jaskier appears unhurt. "It's just to cook the rabbits," Jaskier explains, gesturing to them. "I can't eat raw meat like you can. I mean I could, but it would taste horrible, and I'd honestly rather starve than deal with the blood." He shudders. "You're fine though," he reassures Geralt. "I promise."

The word 'promise' reassures some of Geralt's unease, and he approaches the fire warily. Jaskier says it's not dangerous, and Geralt trusts Jaskier. The scent is strong, and Geralt wrinkles his nose, then is caught off guard by a sneeze. He shakes his head, rubbing his face with his paw and giving Jaskier a plaintive look.

"You're fine," Jaskier says, making a reassuring sound and running his fingers through Geralt's fur. "See, it's nice and warm, too. Not all of us have big fur coats like you do."

Geralt relaxes, shuffling forward and resting his head on Jaskier's leg while he watches the meat cook. When it's done, Jaskier offers a piece of it to Geralt, who takes it carefully and then licks Jaskier's fingers clean.

They sit in silence for a bit while Jaskier eats, warm and content by the fire, and Geralt's nearly fallen asleep when he hears Jaskier say, "We need to give you a name."

* * *

The wolf, who is almost entirely in Jaskier's lap at this point, looks up and cocks his head to the side.

"Well," Jaskier says, "If you're going to stick around, and I sincerely hope you do because you're lovely company, I can't just keep calling you 'wolf.' It's tedious, and not particularly inventive." He studies the wolf for a moment. "Daisy," he suggests. "Or Magnolia, perhaps. Both lovely white flowers to match your gorgeous coat."

The wolf huffs unhappily and Jaskier laughs. "Fine, then, no flowers, although I'll have you know that being named after a flower isn't so bad. One of my nicknames is Dandelion, and it's a perfectly reasonable name." The wolf looks at him curiously and Jaskier sighs. "You're right, it's rather silly, isn't it? My sister used to call me that because—" Here he adopts a posh accent and uses the stick in his hand to dramatically punctuate his speech _"—Julian, you are as stubborn and unyielding as those yellow weeds in the yard. Nobody plants them purposefully, but they appear everywhere, unwanted and intrusive." _

The wolf whines, seemingly sympathizing with Jaskier's plight.

"Well, yes, she is a bit of a bitch," he concedes, picking out another piece of meat and handing it to the wolf, who takes it carefully and swallows it without chewing. "Most of my family are – it's why I haven't seen them in years. She wasn't wrong, though."

The wolf growls as if chastising him, and he laughs.

"It's fine, I'm used to it," he says, trying to keep the melancholy from seeping into his voice. "I tend to be… too much. Geralt told me that all the time. Probably should have listened to him, would have saved me quite a bit of heartbreak."

Jaskier sniffs, tipping his head back to the sky to keep the pooling tears from falling. Even after all this time, thinking about Geralt's words, the angry curl of his lip, the fury in his eyes… it's too much. There's a quiet whine and he looks down at the wolf who is resting his head in Jaskier's lap and looking up at him with sad eyes.

"It's all right," Jaskier says softly, scratching behind his ears. "I've got you, now, and we don't need to think about that arsehole, do we?" The wolf whines. "Well, he _is,_ and if you'd met him, you'd see what I mean. A brave, frighteningly strong, unfairly attractive arsehole, but an arsehole nonetheless."

"Now," he continues before the wolf can argue with him, "Back to the subject of your name. I don't suppose you'd answer to… Biały?" Another unimpressed look. "How about Cloud, then?" This time the wolf growls half-heartedly. "White? Snowy? My goodness, you're remarkably captious. Reminds me of a certain someone."

The wolf woofs softly and Jaskier glowers at him. "You know exactly who I'm talking about," he grumbles, tearing another chunk off the meat and handing it to the wolf, who takes it eagerly. "Geralt of Rivia, the Wh—"

The wolf barks suddenly, standing up and wagging his tail. He looks very pleased with himself as he spins in several circles. When he sits back down in front of Jaskier, his tail pounds into the snow.

"Seriously?" Jaskier stares at him. "You want me to call you _Geralt?" _

The wolf barks again and Jaskier groans. "Oh, for Melitele's sake, please, pick literally any other name. I can think of more! I'm sure something will come to me eventually, just—"

A growl and gentle teeth on his sleeve interrupt his tirade and he sighs, looking down into wide, golden eyes. "Fine," he says, tugging his sleeve out of the wolf – Geralt's – grasp and glaring at him. "Fine! Since you're both stubborn, gorgeous, dangerous idiots with sharp teeth, I will call you Geralt the wolf. Maybe you'll be a better travelling companion than your human counterpart. At least you'll complain less. And probably smell better."

Wolf Geralt looks almost offended at this and Jaskier laughs, letting bittersweet memories dissolve as his fingers brush through soft, thick fur. Eventually he sighs and stands up, readying to put out the fire.

"Now, _Geralt,"_ Jaskier says once he's done, putting as much disdain into the name as he can, "I'm heading back to town to get my horse, and from there… who knows? My life isn't particularly exciting, but you're welcome to tag along if you're so inclined. It would be nice to have someone to sing to who won't tell me to shut up all the time."

Wolf Geralt barks happily, bumping Jaskier's hand and then bounding through the snow toward the road.

"Well then," Jaskier says, smiling as he shoulers his pack. "Off we go."


	6. missing

The walk to the town is refreshing. A gentle breeze carries the promise of spring, and now that the sun is higher in the sky, it's warm enough for Jaskier to shrug off his overcoat. Geralt runs ahead for a bit, then circles back and trots up to Jaskier, barking at him happily before bounding away into the bushes again.

"You're ridiculous," Jaskier says affectionately as Geralt returns to him for the sixth time, having seemingly run off most of his excess energy. He slows to a gentle lope that matches Jaskier's pace and the two of them make the rest of the trek in a comfortable silence.

It's only once they're within sight of the town that Jaskier realizes their dilemma.

"You," he says to Geralt, who has sat down on his haunches and is looking at Jaskier with his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, "are far too big to come to the inn with me." Geralt cocks his head to one side, one ear tipping forward while the other stands straight up.

Jaskier sighs, looking down the hill with his hands on his hips. Bringing a wolf into the town is definitely not an option, no matter how well-behaved – or adorable – he is.

"You're going to have to wait here," he says as he scratches behind Geralt's ears. "Can you do that for me?" Geralt whines at him. "Well, it won't do either of us any good if I end up arrested for… honestly, I don't even know what they'd arrest me for, but it would end in trouble and I've had rather enough of that for now, haven't you?"

Geralt barks at him. "Well, of course you think that," Jaskier says, shaking his head. "You can just eat anyone who looks at you funny. I, on the other hand, cannot. See?" He bares his teeth to show Geralt the lack of sharp incisors and Geralt huffs. "Just stay here. I'll be back as soon as I have my horse."

Geralt looks puzzled as Jaskier backs up a few feet, and when he stands to follow, Jaskier sighs. "No, you can't come right now. Stay." Geralt takes another step forward and Jaskier shakes his head. "Sit," he says, but Geralt ignores the command and runs up to him instead, headbutting Jaskier happily and licking his hand.

"Geralt," Jaskier says, exasperated, and Geralt pants happily at his name. "You have to stay." He points at the ground and Geralt immediately leans down, sniffing curiously. "Of course you don't know what that means," Jaskier says, rubbing his face. "You're a wild animal."

The only experience Jaskier has with dogs is a puppy that his sister had owned when they were little, and he'd hated the thing. It was tiny and mean and had bitten him on more than one occasion. This was something entirely different.

He crouches down in front of Geralt and puts his hands on either side of the wolf's face. Geralt licks his cheek and Jaskier laughs, pressing their foreheads together. "Listen to me," he says, and surprisingly, Geralt settles down on his haunches. "Good boy. Can you stay here for me? I'll come back for you; I promise."

Geralt lets out a loud sigh and flops forward, resting his head on his legs and looking morosely up at Jaskier. "Don't look at me like that," Jaskier says, standing up and dusting the snow off his pants. "I won't be long, I swear."

Then he turns down the hill and heads into town, trying to ignore the uncomfortable ache in his chest.

* * *

Buttercup is excited to see him – as excited as a horse can be, at any rate. She nickers and headbutts him as he strokes her forehead, then pulls an apple out of his pocket and hands it to her.

"You ready to head out?" he murmurs. "You'll be surprised to hear that I made a new friend. I think you'll get along, he's nearly as stubborn as you." She makes quick work of the apple and sniffs at his pockets for more. "I'll get you another one, just let me settle everything with the innkeeper."

True to their word, the couple from the road left a debenture, and the innkeeper is quick to offer Jaskier another evening free once he sees his lute. "It's been mighty dead here lately," the man says, looking around at the handful of patrons eating their midday meal. "A bit of music ought to bring in a better crowd."

Jaskier shakes his head. "Unfortunately, I have other obligations," he says, thinking about the wolf curled up outside the town waiting for him. "Perhaps another time."

"Wait, aren't you the Witcher's bard?" The innkeeper's eyes widen in recognition and Jaskier cringes.

"I'm nobody's bard," he says, voice steady. "We don't travel together any longer. I haven't seen him in…" It takes him a second to calculate the time, and when he realizes it's been over half a year, a pang of grief fills his chest.

"Nobody has," the innkeeper says, shaking his head. "Been gone for months, now. Some folks say he got killed by a dragon."

"He wasn't killed by—" Jaskier sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you mean, nobody has seen him?" He shouldn't care. This isn't his problem. Geralt isn't his friend.

"Dagond said that Cegrirt heard word from a travelling merchant that the Witcher had disappeared. Folks 'ave been looking for him but he hasn't been heard from since afore the snow fell." The innkeeper looks around the room and sighs. "We was hopin' he'd turn up here soon or later. Got somethin' pickin' off the sheep up by the old farms, could use a hand takin' care of it."

"It's probably just a werewolf," Jaskier mutters. He taps his fingers on the counter, mind still stuck on _Geralt is missing_. "Who did you say had information on the Witcher?"

"Dagond," the innkeeper replies. "Lives up at them farms outside the town. It's his sheep what gone missin'."

Jaskier sighs. "I'll pay him a visit," he says, picking up his pack and hoisting it onto his shoulder. "And maybe I can do something about your werewolf problem while I'm there."

* * *

When Jaskier and Buttercup make it back to the hill outside town, the wolf is still waiting patiently. As soon as he sees them, he barks happily, then bounds over and starts sniffing at Buttecup. She appears nonplussed by the inspection, ignoring Geralt in favor of nosing at Jaskier's hands for more treats.

"I don't have anything else for you," he says, stroking her nose. Geralt, apparently satisfied that Buttercup means them no harm, turns to Jaskier and starts frantically wagging his tail.

"I'm very happy to see you too," Jaskier says, laughing. "I'm glad that you're not in trouble – it appears your namesake is." Geralt tips his head to the side. "Yes, I know, I'm sure he's just fine. He can handle himself, and prefers to be by himself – I'm well aware of that because he made it extremely clear the last time we spoke."

Geralt whines at him and licks his hand. "I shouldn't care," Jaskier says, voice softer. "I really shouldn't because he's a colossal twat, but he's also..." He tips his head back and stares up at the bright blue sky, willing himself not to cry. "Well, one can't stop being in love with someone just because the feelings aren't mutual, now can they?"

Geralt shifts closer and leans against Jaskier, gazing up at him with a look on his face that's somehow apologetic. "I know," Jaskier says. "Being in love with a Witcher, it's a bit ridiculous, isn't it?" Geralt huffs and Jaskier sighs, scratching behind his ears.

"Well, come on," Jaskier says, looking down the road towards the farm. "We've got werewolves to hunt and a Witcher to find."


	7. the hunt

It's definitely a werewolf.

"Son of a _bitch," _Jaskier hisses as he ducks behind a ruined piece of the barn, reloading his crossbow as quickly as possible. Geralt, who is crouched behind him and growling softly, sniffs his arm where it's bleeding shallowly.

"I'm fine," Jaskier reassures him in a soft whisper. "It barely nicked me." Geralt whines in disagreement and licks at the wound, then headbutts Jaskier gently.

Jaskier peeks around the shattered wall he's hiding behind, keeping his breathing as quiet as possible as he scans the darkened rubble. Dagond the farmer, who had been completely useless on Geralt's whereabouts, _had _directed Jaskier up the hill to this lovely derelict building where he'd counted himself lucky to find only one werewolf.

"I've only got one left after this," Jaskier murmurs, running his fingers along the silver bolt in the crossbow. When Geralt whines at him, he sighs. "Look, I wasn't planning on fighting werewolves, was I? This really isn't my job – stupid Geralt and his stupid…" He trails off when Geralt tilts his head. "Not you, the other one."

There's a low snarl from the other side of the building and Jaskier quickly pulls back, motioning for Geralt to be silent as he shifts onto his knees. He's still not the most competent with a crossbow – before he'd met Geralt he'd never even held one, but he's used it a few times now, especially for hunting. Never for killing monsters, though.

Jaskier closes his eyes, exhaling quietly and trying to focus on the sound of the werewolf moving on the other side of the room. It's huge – nearly eight feet tall, with teeth longer than wolf Geralt's and claws that are razor-sharp, if the wound in Jaskier's arm is anything to go by.

A wooden beam on the other side of the room snaps and Jaskier's eyes fly open, tracking the bright, full moonlight across the room and catching the edge of a shadow.

"Gotcha," he hisses, pushing himself up from the crouch and taking aim, then loosing the bolt and praying it hits. He grins and looks down proudly at Geralt at the wet, squelching sound of the bolt sinking into the werewolf's fur, but the smile quickly turns sour when the beast lets out an ear-splitting roar.

"I think we just made it angry!" Jaskier yelps, ducking a piece of debris that's thrown their way and gesturing for Geralt to follow him through the hole in the wall and around the back of the building. Several abandoned farm implements in various stages of disuse are strewn here, and Jaskier quickly hops over the rusted pieces, scanning the area for anywhere to hide. Not that it'll be much use – the werewolf can smell them, and the only way Jaskier's going to take it down is with another crossbow bolt, or the silver knife strapped to his calf. He'd really rather not get close enough to use that, though.

The wall behind them explodes out in a shower of splinters and rusted nails, and Jaskier curses when he trips and stumbles to his knees, dropping the silver bolt. The werewolf snarls at him, backlit by the bright white light of the moon, and Jaskier's stomach fills with a cold, tight dread.

_How the fuck did I manage to end up here? _he curses, scrambling backward and feeling around for the crossbow bolt. The werewolf stalks toward him, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes wide and red. It lunges toward Jaskier and he reaches quickly for his dagger, but the werewolf never touches him. Instead, a deep growl is followed by a large, white body, and Geralt throws himself at the beast, knocking it backward and going for its throat.

"Be careful!" Jaskier shouts, pushing himself up and looking around for the bolt. It's nowhere to be seen and he tosses the crossbow down in frustration, drawing both his sword and the dagger.

Geralt snarls, teeth sinking into the werewolf's shoulder, and a chilling howl fills the air as blood starts to stain Geralt's muzzle. The werewolf shakes his head, then grabs at Geralt's neck with its unsettlingly humanoid hands, raking its claws down his back. Geralt yelps in pain, letting go of the werewolf's neck and kicking at it with his hind paws.

"Let him go!" Jaskier shouts, charging forward and ducking behind the beast. He drives his sword into its left leg, earning himself a pained roar. It has the intended effect, though, and the werewolf lets go of Geralt, throwing him away and turning to face Jaskier. "There you go, you ugly beast," Jaskier says, panting with exertion and adrenaline. "C'mon, let's see what you've got."

* * *

Geralt growls in pain, pushing away the searing ache along his back and stumbling to his feet. The werewolf's claws tore through his fur, and he can feel himself bleeding, bright red staining his white fur. He snarls, baring his teeth and shaking his head to clear his vision.

Something pulls at his mind and he whines, trying to push it away to focus on the fight. There's a deep, unsettling sense of wrongness to this all, and he can't quite figure out why. This is familiar. He knows this, he's done this before, but something's not quite right.

Jaskier's not quite right.

"There you go, you ugly beast."

Jaskier's voice rings out through the night and Geralt stumbles forward, following it back toward the fight. Jaskier is standing in front of the werewolf, leather cuirass stained with blood, curled hair matted and sweaty and pushed away from his face. Something about the way his jaw is set in determination strikes right at Geralt's core.

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands. _

Suddenly he's not here, he's on a mountain far away, and Jaskier is staring at him with wide, sad eyes as the determined look on his face fades to disappointment. The faint echo of anger courses thought Geralt, muted by the memory.

_Right. _

_Right, then. _

In the memory, Jaskier's words are soft and sad, and Geralt's heart aches at the broken look in his eyes.

_I did that, _he thinks. _I said those things. I was… _

He's pulled back to reality by a pained cry, swaying unsteadily as memory after memory washes over him. This isn't right. He's supposed to be in Jaskier's place, with a sword in his hand and blood dripping from his face, eyes black as he keeps Jaskier safe. Instead he watches helplessly as the werewolf's claws drag deep red marks down Jaskier's side.

_No. _

Geralt snarls and charges forward, leaping onto the beast's back and biting down on the place where its neck meets its shoulder. It howls, pushing Jaskier away and trying to reach back and grab Geralt instead. Geralt refuses to let go, sinking his teeth deeper until he feels bone crack and sinew tear.

The werewolf stumbles backward and falls to its knees, and Geralt quickly jumps over it, landing in front and lunging for its throat this time. Its furious shriek turns to a gurgling whine as Geralt's teeth hit their mark. Red colors Geralt's vision as the werewolf thrashes beneath him, motions becoming slower and weaker until it shudders and goes limp.

Geralt drops the beast, noting the silver knife sticking out of its chest, directly through its heart.

_Jaskier, _he thinks, as more memories come back to him. Evenings spent by the campfire, teaching Jaskier about monsters. Showing him how to use the crossbow; pretending to be irritated when he missed the target over and over again. Sparring with practice swords that Geralt carved from tree branches, then with the real thing, Jaskier's blows becoming stronger and more precise with each passing day.

"Geralt…"

Jaskier's voice is weak and Geralt turns to it immediately, padding over to where he's lying on his back in the debris. The front of his cuirass is torn open, and blood drips through his fingers where he's pressing against the wound.

_No, _Geralt thinks, looking around desperately for something to help. He whines at Jaskier, nudging his cheek and wishing he could speak. _I'm here. I'm supposed to keep you safe. _

"Thank you," Jaskier manages, trying to catch his breath. Then he exhales shakily as his eyes close and he goes limp. Geralt noses at his cheek, relieved to feel a soft breath on the side of his face. He's still alive. Geralt can still make this right.

He grabs at Jaskier's cloak with his teeth, tugging on it until the fabric tears. Then he settles it over the wound and moves to lay beside Jaskier, pressing himself up against the fabric to keep the wound from bleeding out.

_Yennefer, _Geralt thinks, trying his best to feel for his bond with her as he looks up at the full moon. It's difficult – buried deep – but as soon as he feels a sliver of connection, he latches onto it. _Yennefer, _he cries out. _Jaskier's hurt. Please, I need your help. _


	8. saviour

Geralt's thoughts must be as desperate as he feels because it only takes minutes for a portal to begin to appear a few feet away from them. Sparks crackle in the air, pulling the fabric of space out of the way to allow Yennefer to step through into the field.

"Geralt, what the _fuck." _

Yennefer takes in the scene, then runs over to them and drops to her knees next to Jaskier. He's still conscious and breathing shallowly, but Geralt's fur is quickly turning red from the blood spilling from his wound.

_Save him, _Geralt thinks, nosing at Yennefer's hands. She gives him a look that's half exasperation, half apology, then nudges him out of the way. Magic thrums beneath her fingertips as she closes her eyes, murmuring something too quiet for Geralt to catch. A shimmering white glow spreads outward from her hands, dipping down into the wound and appearing to pull it shut with stitches made of light.

"That should hold for now," she says once the bleeding has stopped. Then she sits back on her heels and looks at Geralt with one eyebrow raised. "You know who you are, then?"

Geralt growls at her, baring his teeth.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have been such a colossal ass then, hmm?"

Before Geralt can attempt to argue, Yennefer stands up and holds her hand out above Jaskier. After a second, his body starts to move, pulled upward and toward the portal by magic.

"Well," Yennefer says, looking back at Geralt with a raised eyebrow. "Are you coming?"

Stepping through the portal is disorienting and Geralt nearly falls on his face when it closes behind them. He half-expects to be human again, but he retains his four paws and tail as he pads through the hallways of Yennefer's home, following Jaskier's floating body. Eventually they come to a small, comfortable-looking room with a large bed, and Yennefer settles Jaskier into the middle of it.

"I'll be back," she says, then disappears down the hall.

Geralt hops up onto the bed immediately, curling up and resting his head on Jaskier's arm. He whines and licks Jaskier's cheek, but there's no response – only the slow rise and fall of Jaskier's chest.

_My fault, _Geralt thinks. The day on the mountain is clear in his mind, now – the fight, the dragon, the angry words he'd shouted at Jaskier. Despite being irritated at Yennefer for the curse, Geralt can't bring himself to be angry at anyone but himself. _I'm sorry, _he thinks, curling his tail up around himself as he shuffles closer to Jaskier. _It should have been me._

* * *

Yennefer tends to Jaskier's wounds with the careful efficiency of a battle medic, and it's not until she's thrown away the dirty fabric and washed her hands that she finally puts her hands on her hips and stares at Geralt.

"He'll be fine," she reassures him. "Have you learned your lesson?"

Geralt huffs, shuffling closer to Jaskier and resting his head on his chest.

"I'll take that as a yes." Yennefer watches the two of them for a second, then reaches out her hand. Geralt looks at her suspiciously at first, then gives in and lets her stroke the soft fur of his nose. When her fingers find the spot behind his ears, he sighs and leans into it, thumping his tail on the bed.

"You're much more agreeable like this," Yennefer says. Geralt attempts to look indignant, but with his head on Jaskier's chest and his tail wagging, he's sure he's not particularly frightening.

_Sorry, _he thinks. Yennefer nods, seemingly able to understand him. _Was angry. Not at you. Or him. At myself. _

"Well, that doesn't give you the right to act like you did."

_I know. _

"You hurt him."

_I'm sorry. _

"He loves you."

Geralt pauses at that, looking up at her without moving his head. He knows – has known for a while, he thinks, even before he'd become a wolf. But caring is difficult, and nobody has ever loved him, and he's terrified.

_I love him, too. _

Yennefer nods, shifting closer to Geralt on the bed. She looks younger than he remembers.

_I'm sorry. For the wish. _

Yennefer shrugs. "We all fuck up." Geralt makes a low sound of agreement. "You more than others," she adds, and Geralt is about to growl at her when he realizes she's smiling. "You've changed, though. I think it's time to turn you back."

Geralt's initial excitement at the words quickly shifts to apprehension and he turns his attention back to Jaskier.

_Not yet, _Geralt thinks. He doesn't want the first thing that Jaskier sees when he wakes up to be the man who broke his heart.

"Geralt," Yennefer says cautiously. "You can't pretend forever."

_It's not pretending. _

"It is."

He sighs, shifting up and nosing at Jaskier's cheek.

_I'm better this way. He doesn't hate me. _

Yennefer shakes her head. "He doesn't hate the human you, either," she insists. "He's just angry, and he has every right to be. You owe him an apology and you can't do that like this."

Geralt whines quietly. _I know, _he thinks. _I know, just… wait? _He looks up at Yennefer. _Please? _

Yennefer looks like she might argue, then nods and stands from her spot on the bed. "All right," she says. "But you're going to have to face your mistakes eventually."

* * *

Jaskier wakes slowly, both in a moderate amount of pain and incredibly well-rested. He blinks a few times, rubbing his eyes and attempting to sit up when he realizes that there's something heavy on his chest.

"Geralt," he whispers, running his fingers through the wolf's thick fur. Geralt makes a soft snuffling noise, cuddling closer to Jaskier, then slowly opens his eyes as he realizes that Jaskier is awake. "Hey," Jaskier says. "You okay?"

Geralt immediately starts to whine, shuffling up the bed as his tail starts to wag furiously.

"I'm fine," Jaskier insists, laughing when Geralt starts to frantically nose at him and lick his cheek. "I'm sorry I worried you." He strokes Geralt's head and presses their foreheads together, sighing at the comfortable familiarity of the wolf's presence. Then he frowns, looking around the room. "Where are we?"

When he moves to get out of bed, Geralt whines and grabs the fabric of his sleeve. Jaskier frowns, realizing that his chest and stomach are bandaged. It takes him a second, but the memories of the fight start to come back to him in hazy flashes.

"The werewolf—did you…"

Geralt gives him a soft _woof _and Jaskier sighs in relief. "Are you hurt?" he asks, running his hands down Geralt's side and finding the dried blood. "What happened?" He pauses when he realizes there's no wound. "Ah. My blood, then?"

There's a soft knock at the door and Jaskier looks up, eyes widening when he recognizes Yennefer. She raises her eyebrows at him as she walks over to the bed and begins to prod at his wound.

"How's the pain?" she asks.

"Um." Jaskier looks back down to the wolf, then frowns at Yennefer. "How, uh… how did I get here? And where is here? Why are you helping me, anyway, don't you—"

"Geralt's right, you talk far too much." Yennefer reaches out and pats the wolf's head. "He saved your life. I helped you because I owed him."

Jaskier is about to nod when the pieces of information finally start to slide together in his brain.

"Wait, Geralt?" He looks back down at the wolf, who licks his hand and looks apologetic. "How did you know I called him that? And what do you mean he owes you, he's a wolf, he—"

Another puzzle piece slips into place, and when he looks back to Yennefer, her contrite expression confirms it.

"You're Geralt," Jaskier says to the wolf, who looks away from him. "Actual Geralt, you're—you fucking arsehole, you lied to me!" He tries to push himself up on his elbow but Yennefer puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back into bed.

"He didn't lie to you," she says, but Jaskier shakes his head. The contentment from earlier is quickly shifting into a mix of embarrassment and anger, and he tries to push the wolf away.

"He did," he insists. "He pretended to be this—he didn't tell me. What, was he too much of a coward to talk to me after being such a colossal prick so he decided to magic himself into something more sympathetic?"

"He didn't know," Yennefer insists. "I did it."

"And he had the _audacity _to—" Yennefer's words catch up to Jaskier's brain and he blinks. "Wait, you did this?"

She nods, then reaches out her hand and touches Geralt's forehead. Jaskier's eyes widen as Geralt yelps, then slowly starts to shift. His muzzle retracts, ears slowly losing their fur and moving to the side of his head as his paws turn to fingers. After a second, there's a very naked, very human Geralt sitting on the bed next to Jaskier and staring down at his hands.

"I'll leave you two to it," Yennefer says, and before Jaskier can protest, she's across the room and out the door, leaving the two of them in an awkward silence.

"I'm—"

"Shut up," Jaskier hisses. He shuffles backward, wincing in pain but forcing himself to sit up and move away from Geralt "I can't believe you."

"Jaskier, I—"

"First, you're the biggest twat I've ever known – and I'm familiar with most of the bastards and bitches, you know that – and then you have the _audacity _to pretend to—"

"Jaskier, would you just listen?" Geralt sighs, rubbing his face. Then he grabs the pillow next to Jaskier and pulls it into his lap, giving himself a small sense of modesty. Jaskier grinds his teeth and refuses to look at Geralt's chest.

"Why should I listen?"

"Because I'm sorry."

Jaskier stills.

"You're what?"

"Sorry." Geralt's voice is contrite, which isn't something Jaskier has ever heard before. It's satisfying in a vindictive sort of way, but he figures he's owed it. "I was cruel, I treated you unfairly, and I'm sorry."

Jaskier plays with a loose thread in the blanket, winding it around his finger and tugging at it until it breaks.

"Why didn't you say something before?" he asks eventually. "Try to—to communicate, somehow?"

"I didn't know." Geralt sounds so sincere, and when Jaskier finally looks at him, he can't find any lie in his expression. "The magic – Yennefer's curse – it changed me. I tried to find you, but then… I forgot."

"Forgot?"

Geralt nods. "Even once I found you, I didn't really remember. I knew that I _knew _you, but not why, or…" He continues talking, more than Jaskier has ever heard him say, and when he finally gets to the end of the story, he tacks on another, "I'm sorry."

Jaskier sighs, tipping his head back against the wall and staring up at the patterns on the ceiling. "You weren't there," he says quietly. "You hurt me, you—you broke my heart. I know you didn't know, but you did, and then I needed you and you weren't there, and I missed you."

"I would change it, if I could," Geralt says quietly.

"Can't change the past," Jaskier insists.

Geralt nods in agreement. "We can change the future, though," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"Travel with me again," Geralt says. He holds out his hand tentatively, almost as if he still expects it to be a paw. "Please? Let me make it up to you."

Jaskier stares at his hand for a long time. The mountain was so long ago, but it stings like it was yesterday. His heart had hurt for so long, and there's still an ache of bitterness that runs through his veins. But then he thinks of the wolf, of how he'd kept Jaskier safe, of how they'd fought together and slept together and ate together and had fit so easily into each other's lives. Even with the anger, he doesn't want to lose that again.

"I get to ride Roach," he says eventually, taking Geralt's hand.

"You… what?"

"You heard me." Jaskier runs his thumb across Geralt's knuckles, then gives him a wry grin. "Think of it as penance. You have a lot to make up for."

Geralt looks like he might argue, then nods and squeezes Jaskier's hand. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. You can carry the luggage, too. And you have to listen to my music and tell me all the stories of your exploits – properly, too, none of this, 'I fought a monster and lived, the end,' nonsense."

Geralt shakes his head. "I won't need to tell you stories," he says. "You can see them yourself."

Jaskier's eyes widen. "You mean—"

"You're more than capable. I underestimated you." He gives Jaskier a soft, sincere look that fills his chest with a warm sense of pride.

"People often do."

"It's a mistake I won't make again," Geralt promises. "You'll come, then?"

Jaskier laughs, letting the anger and resentment melt away until nothing is left but a soft ache that he knows will fade and disappear with time.

"Yes, I'll come."

Geralt's smile is as bright as it is rare. "Thank you."

"One question." Jaskier looks back toward the door. "Can you, y'know… can you turn back? Not permanently, just sometimes. If you feel like it?"

Geralt shrugs, staring down at their joined hands. "I'm not sure. You can ask Yennefer?"

"No, _you _can ask Yennefer," Jaskier insists. "She scares me."

Geralt makes a sound that's almost the same as his wolf counterpart's huff.

"You're cute as a wolf," Jaskier says, and the expression on Geralt's face quickly becomes indignant.

"I'm not cute."

"You are. And you have better manners."

"Hm."

"Plus, your vocabulary is just as limited. It's an upgrade, really." Geralt growls and Jaskier laughs. "See? And it would be very handy to have something warm and soft to cuddle on the cold nights."

Geralt hesitates, expression twisting into something that clearly indicates that he'd rather die than have this conversation, but he forges ahead anyway. "You could," he says hesitantly, "do that. With. Like this." He gestures to himself, voice tight with embarrassment. "With me, I mean, like—"

"I get it," Jaskier says, letting pity get the better of him and letting Geralt out of the uncomfortable conversation. "I still think I prefer you as a wolf, though."

Geralt sighs. "Fine, I'll ask Yennefer."

Jaskier squeezes Geralt's hand once more, then slowly moves until his legs are hanging over the edge of the bed. He spies his lute in the corner, and the rest of his clothing, and he stumbles forward toward it. Geralt quickly reaches out and grabs his arm, frowning at him.

"What are you doing?"

Jaskier studies his face – the concern in his eyes, the uncertainty in the curve of his lips. All the anger and frustration are gone from him, and he looks just like the man Jaskier fell in love with all those years ago. Before Jaskier can stop himself, he leans back down and presses a kiss to Geralt's cheek.

"I'm getting my things," he says, grinning when Geralt brings a hand to his face in surprise. "We've got an adventure to get do, don't we?"


End file.
